


Story Time

by Mirradin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Codependency, Dark Allura (Voltron), Dark Coran (Voltron), Dark Shiro (Voltron), Dissociation, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Kidnapping, M/M, Performative Sexual Behaviour, Restraints, Sexual Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/pseuds/Mirradin
Summary: Voltron is the story they tell each other to make it through the day.(Locked in a basement, helpless and believed dead -- but at least they can pretend to be somewhere else. For a while.)





	Story Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a happy fic. Please, _please_ heed the warnings.

“I’ve got the crystal,” Hunk said into the com. He got the Yellow Lion to its feet; rock groaned and the high-pitched hum from the back of the cockpit tipped up to a whine that made his teeth itch, but everything held. “Um – those energy rope adjustments we rigged up seem stable so far. I think we’re good to go.”

“Skies clear,” Lance’s confident voice came over the comms. “We’ve got your six, buddy.”

“Weather conditions are holding steady,” Pidge reported. “You should be able to fly it through that warm-air current we noticed earlier. That’ll get you within a mile of the village before we need to worry about temperature differences.”

“Okay.” Hunk rocked the Lion back on its haunches, tugging hard on the energy ropes lashed around the crystal sunk halfway into the cave wall. Up close, it kind of looked like a statue. ( _“A melted tentacle-fish statue, maybe,”_ Keith had said.) It was – or had been – a sacred relic to the locals, who saw it as a repository of their most important cultural memories. Up until some kind of global cold snap had made it inaccessible to them, anyway. Their hosts looked like someone had crossed a frog with a squid and then stuck limpets down the back of the resulting Cthulhu-esque mutation, but they’d been very welcoming, willing to provide medical help and put their considerable biosciences knowledge toward figuring out what it was safe for the Paladins to stock up on. Unfortunately, they also needed to be immersed in this planet’s warm bogs and rivers for most of the day, and when the river leading to the temple-cave had dried up, they had no way of getting to their sacred artefact.

Enter Team Voltron, who’d offered to retrieve the crystal from its now-inaccessible temple and bring it back to the nearest village. The priests (priestesses? Nobody was sure how to tell) had been delighted.

They’d also warned the Paladins that rapid temperature changes could cause the crystal to crack, in which case all the cultural memories would spill out. Which would be a massive disaster and probably grounds for execution. Nobody had actually asked. (Keith had grumbled about how they’d spent the last twenty years without the memories, so clearly they weren’t all that important, but then he and Lance had started trying to figure out if the Red Lion could start forest fires to keep the crystal warm, with the Blue Lion’s ice ray putting the fires out after. Shiro had vetoed that one.)

The stone around the crystal cracked, showering dust and pebbles to the floor. Hunk carefully tilted the Yellow Lion’s head up and jerked hard.

With a rumble and a shower of dirt, the relic came clear. Hunk let out the breath he’d been holding and adjusted his grip on the controls. “It’s loose. Launching now.”

The Yellow Lion crouched and then leaped skywards, curving easily into the current of warm air Pidge had found for them. The walls of the cavern opened up around him and then he was out in open sky, the Yellow Lion’s engines rumbling comfortably. Far below Yellow’s dangling paws, the dried-up riverbed snaked through the green-and purple creeping brush. Further down, the brush gave way to low forest that stretched clear out to the horizon everywhere except behind him, where the mountains reached towards the sky like dragon’s teeth.

 

**

 

Hunk’s voice faded away, and Lance opened his eyes onto darkness.

He blinked a few times, letting his eyes re-focus. Sometimes, when he came back to himself after a Voltron mission, it took a moment for him to stop seeing the Lions and the Castle and start seeing what was really there. This time it was like he had the Blue Lion’s cockpit etched on the inside of his eyelids, angular and clear, with the hazy green of the alien swamps stretching out beyond. Hunk’s voice tended to do that to him.

He blinked again, letting the image blur away. Another blink, and then his eyes finally re-focused on reality, and Lance was looking at the light bleeding in around the door in the far wall.

For a moment he lay there, blinking at it. The door. The real door, that was really there. Kind of like the mattress that he was really lying on, the one that was so thin he could feel the concrete underneath. And Katie, lying next to him with her arm tight around his ribs.

Lance reflexively tightened his arms around her back, drawing in a slow, shuddering breath that filled his nose with the familiar smells of sweat and skin, the hot-metal tang from the old boiler in the corner, and Katie’s hair. Smells were tricky to imagine. Even in Voltron, Lance didn’t really smell stuff so much as he _didn’t_ smell what his body was picking up. If he could smell something, that something was real.

This was real.

“Hey,” he whispered to the top of Katie’s head.

It was too dark for him to see her, but her arm tightened over his ribs and a heavy breath gusted against his collarbone.

“Hey,” she mumbled into his neck.

“You okay?” he asked.

The wince in her voice was palpable. “Fine,” she muttered, and squeezed him back. Her hand crept up his back and she touched the sore spot on the back of his neck, her crooked fingers probing tentatively at the knobs of his spine where teeth had clamped down hard. “How’re you?”

Lance…ached. He ached everywhere. Just general achiness. He wriggled his shoulders, trying to work out the kink that had built up in his back while he was piloting the Blue Lion, and the fabric of the mattress rubbed against his carpet burn, _ow._ Maybe not the best idea. He tried stretching his legs out instead.

Katie stayed silent, hanging on to him while he shifted around.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, I’m…I’m okay.”

Katie huffed into his chest but didn’t contradict him. Her fingers stopped their restless prodding and crept higher, curling loosely through his hair. Lance dragged his arm up and draped it over her shoulders, carefully leaving her hair and her neck free. Katie was twitchy about being touched there, after all the times her hair had been used as a handle to yank her around or she’d been held down by the throat, so if they weren’t being directed, Lance wasn’t going anywhere near it. He drew in a careful breath and stared into the darkness over her head.

They’d been left alone for…a while. Maybe it had been a day, Lance wasn’t sure. Time had been funny ever since he’d wandered away from his class on a field trip, and taken a few wrong turns, and then taken a drink from the pretty stranger who’d offered to help him find his way back to the bus.

A clock might be nice. Or maybe not. Sometimes when Lance slept upstairs in someone else’s bed he couldn’t stop watching the second hand tick past, counting out how long he’d been lying there, in that bed, with someone else – It’d be nice to know what time it was, but then every time he looked at it he’d know how long it had been since the last time he’d looked at it, and how long he’d been…

Here.

Katie tugged on his hair, and Lance snapped back to himself. He was breathing faster, he realised. That or she’d picked up on it some other way; sometimes _he_ didn’t realise how he knew when Hunk was drifting into bad thoughts when they were sharing a mattress together, but he could tell, somehow. Just like he could tell when Keith wouldn’t stop thinking about how he’d ended up here.

After everything that had happened, sometimes it was like he knew them better than he knew himself.

He hugged Katie tighter, nosing the top of her head, and peered into the darkness by the door. If he squinted, he could just make out Hunk and Keith as a single vague grey outline on the other mattress, against the wall beside the door. It put them closer to the draught coming down the steps, and also in the first place anyone would look if they came in.

There was a rustle of skin on fabric, and Hunk made a soft, stifled noise.

“You okay?” Keith’s low voice came through the dimness.

“Yeah, it‘s just pins and needles.” Lance heard more rustling, and then the faint sound of skin rubbing against skin. “Do you reckon it’s supper time yet?”

“Could be,” Keith muttered. “Is the boiler on?”

Lance unfolded his arm from around Katie’s shoulders and reached up the wall. Heat radiated against the back of his knuckles from the old water pipe. “Yeah.”

Supper was unpredictable. Most days it happened, and if it didn’t there was usually a reason it didn’t happen. (Sometimes there wasn’t, and the four of them slept badly and woke up with their stomachs cramping, trying to think of something, anything they could do to earn breakfast.) Mostly it came within an hour of the boiler turning on, unless they’d had guests. Then maybe it would be a couple of hours later.

Lance really, really hated having visitors. Sex was one thing, he’d had lots of sex, but when it was people he hadn’t met before he didn’t know how to anticipate what they’d want or do and it always left him feeling grubbier than sex usually did. So far visitors weren’t a common thing – Katie figured they didn’t come more than once a month or so – but at times like this sometimes Lance couldn’t keep from worrying that they were going to start coming more often, that this was going to start being a regular thing, and he’d have to…

“I miss peanut butter,” Katie said softly.

“I miss calzones,” Hunk said.

“Sunday roast,” Lance said. “With gravy and sweet potatoes.”

“Burger King,” Keith murmured.

Oh, man, junk food. How long had it been since Lance had had junk food?

Sometimes he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Was he old enough to have sex now? He hadn’t been when he’d first got here – legally at least; he’d found out very fast that _physically_ having sex was not difficult.

The light spilling around the door turned brighter and measured footsteps started down the stairs. All four of them instantly fell silent.

Takashi’s footsteps were impossible to mistake, but there was no way of knowing who he’d be when he opened the door.

The last three times, it had been Kuro.

The bolt at the top of the door shot back with a clean _tap_. The one at the bottom of the door was stiffer, and it screeched as it was worked open. Lance dragged in a breath surreptitiously and pressed his head as far into the mattress as it could go. Takashi cleared his throat.  The key turned in the lock.

In Lance’s arms, Katie was as still as a dead thing.

The door swung open with a faint creak from the hinges, pouring light in a narrow band across the floor.

“Hey, guys. You hungry?”

_Shiro_.

Lance wanted to go limp as a rag with relief, but it wasn’t safe to risk it. It was safe to be happy to see Shiro, and mostly he didn’t mind them being scared of him as long as they didn’t yell or make a fuss. But if he thought someone was _relieved_ to see him instead of Kuro…things could get dicey. Instead Lance slowly let out the breath he was holding and hoped it didn’t ruffle Katie’s hair too obviously.

The single bare bulb snapped on, filling the room with anaemic yellow light. Lance scrunched his eyes against the glare and tugged his right arm out from under Katie. His fingers had started to go prickly from her weight, but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as if he’d been tied up. He pushed himself up carefully and offered Shiro the brightest smile he dared.

Apparently that was okay, because Shiro smiled back at him warmly and tossed him a wadded-up bundle of fabric with an easy underarm. Lance fumbled the catch – _and wouldn’t Marco have laughed at that_ – and the bundle fell into his lap.

On the other side of the room, Keith was sitting up, blinking rapidly as he adjusted to the light. The bruises sucked into his pale throat were still dark, and they stood out in the yellow glow almost as much as his ribs stood out under his skin. Beside him Hunk was propped up on one elbow, squinting against the glare, one eye swelled almost shut from a blow Kuro had landed two days ago.

They all knew how to recognise Kuro, and they all knew what to do (keep your head down, don’t talk back, do whatever they want of you and don’t scream unless you’re told; Lance knew the rules off by heart and had since the second damn week) – when he was like that, even a quiet “Please, I don’t want to,” was dangerous. He didn’t like seeing Hunk bruised up, but it could have been worse. Lance knew in detail just how much worse it could have been.

He looked down at the bundle of cloth in his lap and slowly unfolded it. A faded T-shirt and a worn pair of boxers, both crumpled, neither of them washed since the last time they’d been worn. That was pretty much the most Lance ever got to wear these days. Clothes were only really needed for supper, since they almost never left the house.

He tugged the shirt over his head and wriggled into the boxers, wincing. Once he was dressed he felt grubbier than ever; the soft cloth caught on the crusty dried mess of lube and spunk down the inside of his thighs and it was soft with old sweat, anyway. But it was good to be covered. Katie climbed into the loose nightdress that was fraying at the cuffs. Both of them stayed sitting on their mattress.

Shiro had crouched down by Hunk and was examining his black eye carefully. Lance nibbled his lip and fidgeted with a loose thread. Keith had dressed and was watching anxiously as Shiro cupped Hunk’s face in his hands and turned it from side to side, murmuring reassurance.

“You’re healing well,” Shiro said finally. He let go of Hunk’s face and straightened up. “Come on, let’s get you guys cleaned up. I think you all deserve a shower.”

Right now a shower sounded like a dream.

Lance scrambled to his feet to follow Shiro out of the room. Katie beat him to it, and he stared at the back of her neck, avoiding Shiro’s – _strong-shouldered, tall, heroic_ – profile in the doorway. He heard the whisper of bare feet on concrete floor as Keith slotted himself behind him, and Hunk’s heavier, limping steps bringing up the rear.

They filed up the narrow staircase, sticking in a neat line. At the top of the stairs the walls opened out into brightly painted hallway with three doors opening off it and another staircase up to the first floor. The sky outside the window above the front door was dark. There were two locks set into the front door itself, the second one shiny and new.

A door banged open and Lance’s nose twitched at the smell that flooded out.

“Ah, I see we’re all up and about!” Coran leaned out of the kitchen. A bright yellow “Kiss the Cook!” apron was belted around his waist, and there was _sauce_ on the wooden spoon he was brandishing. Sauce that looked gooey and rich and glistened temptingly under the cheery hall lights. Lance’s stomach cramped painfully. Crap, that smelled _so good_. Had he earned it? He must have, please, he’d behaved, he’d been good…

Coran gave him a warm smile, the one that made him look like someone’s kindly grandfather, and Lance’s knees went wobbly with relief. He stayed upright – he’d had plenty of practice staying upright – mustered himself, and smiled back.

“I’m just taking them to get cleaned up,” Shiro said. “Twenty minutes?”

“Oh, plenty of time!” Coran gestured enthusiastically, splattering sauce. Gravy? Was that gravy? It smelled kind of like gravy, maybe -- “We’ve got a real treat for you tonight! If things get much more elaborate I might have to draft you to help me in the kitchen again, Hunk!”

“I’d like that,” Hunk said shyly.

“We’ll see,” Shiro said.

“Yes, yes.” Coran waved him off, turning back into the kitchen. “Go and get them washed up, we all want them clean for supper…”

Shiro herded the four of them up the stairs, to the landing with a window that overlooked the back garden. A narrow bench, not much more than a plank of wood balanced on four legs, sat against the wall. Lance sank down onto it automatically.

Rules for taking a shower were simple. Five minutes each, one at a time, don’t lock the door, use the grey towel when you’re done. Lance leaned his shoulders back against the wall and tangled his fingers with Keith’s, waiting as Katie, then Hunk, took their turns in the bathroom, emerging with damp hair and clouds of steam. Keith started to get up when Hunk came out, but Takashi shook his head and gestured Lance in. Lance didn’t argue, just got to his feet and hurried in.

He cracked the tiny window open to let the steam filter out, then shucked off his clothes. It was tempting to take a leak in the actual toilet, rather than the bucket that lived in the corner of the basement, but the lure of the shower was stronger. He wanted to be clean.

Well, fat chance of that. But at least he could wash the mess off his thighs.

The water pressure wasn’t great, but it was warm. A solid quarter of the shower floor was cluttered with body washes and hair-care products and okay, Lance _got_ that, he did, but why was it always so hard to find the soap? He ducked his head under the spray and fumbled through the bottles before giving up and scrubbing at the dried flaky stuff with his hands. It went slimy at first, clinging stubbornly before it consented to be washed down the drain.

He cupped his palms to catch the water and splashed it over his thighs a couple of times, until he was sure it had come off, and then did it a couple more times to make sure. The shower gel turned up under his foot and he squeezed a dollop of it into his palm, soaping himself up hurriedly. Legs, stomach, a quick slathering over his arms and neck.

Five minutes wasn’t that long, but Lance’d had had plenty of practice at washing fast. He stole a handful of seconds at the end to tip his head back and enjoy the water pattering down on his face, the feeling of being properly _clean_ again. The soap stung his welts, but he didn’t care. It was worth it to be properly clean again.

Takashi’s fist thumped against the door, and Lance opened his eyes. He turned the water off and grabbed the damp grey towel, hastily towelled himself off, then dropped it on the floor and yanked his clothes back on, grimacing at the faint odour of sweat. He hadn’t noticed before – well, to be honest, he’d smelled worse than the shirt before. But he wasn’t going to turn down clothing, even slightly gross clothing.

He opened the door and saw Hunk, leaning forwards with his damp hair hanging over his face. Shiro was sitting beside him, rubbing his back gently with his left hand. There was an open first-aid kit on the floor at their feet.

Keith was sitting next to Shiro. He looked up when Lance opened the door, then god to his feet and made a beeline for him. Lance held the door open for him, then made his way back to the bench and sat down where Keith had been.

He breathed. In. Out. The smell of whatever Coran was cooking filled the house and this was…it was okay. He was okay. Good, even. He was clean and dressed and they were going to eat soon. If he strained his ears, he could hear music from the kitchen. Lance could sit in this moment and just…enjoy it.

The music was something classical, he thought. Not like the bouncy, jazzy stuff he’d preferred when he’d been…before, but it wasn’t bad. It was calm and kind of swoopy, and he liked that well enough. Any kind of music was nice, really. He didn’t get to listen to it much these days. He tipped his head back against the wall and concentrated on the sound.

“Lance.” Shiro was standing in front of him, first aid kit in hand, his grey eyes concerned. Lance shook himself back to reality and looked up at him. Shiro nodded at his arm. “Want me to take a look at that?”

What…Lance glanced down and was half surprised to see the angry welt of a healing cigarette burn on the inside of his forearm. It hurt a lot, when he let himself think about it. He tilted his arm towards Shiro, and Shiro took his wrist gently.

“Does it hurt?”

Lance shook his head, then remembered he was allowed to speak. Words came slowly. “Not so bad.”

“Hmm.” Shiro squeezed out a dab of cream and smeared it over the burn. His fingers were warm and he handled Lance’s arm carefully, like he was made of something precious and fragile. Lance felt a sob catch in his throat, and swallowed several times to get it back down.

Shiro smoothed a plaster over the burn and moved on, one hand curling around Lance’s wrist over the raised, silvery scars. The greenish-yellow bruises dappled up his arm didn’t show as vividly on him or Hunk as they would have on Katie or Keith but Shiro examined them anyway, pressing down lightly. The bruises really didn’t hurt at this point, but the way Shiro studied them was…it was nice, having someone check him over like that. Having him care.

Finally Shiro looked up, with a wry quirk pulling at his lips. “Anything you’re hiding from me?”

Lance shook his head and words tumbled out without him thinking about it, “I’d never hide anything from you.”

Shiro’s smile softened. “I know.” He folded Lance’s hand between both of his own and squeezed it gently. His thumb stroked over the back of Lance’s hand, and Lance had to swallow down the surge of emotion.

Then Shiro climbed to his feet and turned towards Keith as the other boy emerged from the bathroom, water still dripping from his hair. Lance leaned back against the wall and drew in a shuddering breath.

_“All done!”_ Coran’s voice hollered from the kitchen. _“Come and get it while it’s hot!”_

“Coming!” Shiro called back. He nodded at Hunk and Lance. “You guys head on down, we’ll be along in a bit.”

Hunk climbed to his feet first, and Lance was right behind him, gluing himself to Hunk’s solid presence. Katie hung behind, a thin shadow at Keith’s shoulder, watching Shiro work with wide eyes. Lance’s back felt exposed with nobody behind him, but…well, that was nothing new. And half the time having someone behind him was a not-so-good thing anyway.

You got to learn to enjoy the small things when you had them, so Lance savoured the feeling of the fuzzy carpet under his bare feet as he hurried after Hunk, both of them tiptoeing downstairs so as not to make too much noise. The music floating out of the kitchen had changed to something with a heavy drumbeat that helped cover up their footsteps. Even here, even now, his feet itched with the urge to dance along.

The kitchen floor was bare tile, cooler than the carpet but nicer to walk on than concrete. Hunk tapped his knuckles against the doorpost. “Hey, Coran…do you need a hand?”

Coran looked up from the stove and gave Hunk a thoughtful look. “Not today, boys. You two sit down, we’ll be dishing up in a minute.”

That was unexpected, a little. Hunk nodded quickly and waved back, little more than a flutter of his fingers, then slid onto the bench that ran between the back wall and the table like the booth in a restaurant. He scooted along it to the wall, and Lance slid in beside him. The bench was new-ish. It had been put in not long after Lance got here, to make it easier for all four of them to cram along that side of the table. Lance fingered the worn tabletop and watched hungrily as Coran lifted a saucepan off the stove.

A moment later, the door creaked open again, and the last member of the household walked in.

Allura’s pale hair was gathered back from her face in a hasty ponytail, and the collar of her dress shirt showed under the loose jacket she had on against the desert chill. She still had her makeup on from work – he didn’t know what she did, she never said, all they knew was that she had a sleek smartphone and wore smart clothes and just enough makeup to look like she wasn’t wearing makeup. She looked like the kind of girl Lance used to fantasise about, before.

“Lance, Hunk,” she greeted them absently. Lance mumbled something in reply. Allura propped her hip against the counter and peered over Coran’s shoulder, brightening noticeably. “Roast chicken? Coran, this is a treat!”

“We’ve all earned a bit of an indulgence,” Coran replied, nudging her over and setting a dish of potatoes on the counter.

The smell that came out of the oven was _amazing._ It was rich and savoury. It was familiar –

A memory came flickering up unbidden, out of the past that Lance didn’t think about: _Sunday lunch, fighting with Veronica over who got to pull the wishbone with Dad_ –

Hunk’s stomach rumbled loudly, pulling Lance out of the memory. He leaned against Hunk’s shoulder and gripped his hand under the table. Hunk squeezed back.

Coran was doling out potatoes. Allura carved slices off the chicken with an expert hand on the knife. Her eyebrows were set in concentration, but there was no irritation or impatience in her face. She cut the meat calmly and set it neatly on the plates. She was in a good mood today, smiling at Coran’s jokes, fetching another plate to replace one with a chipped rim. The last shreds of tension in Lance’s shoulders eased.

The kitchen door swung open again to admit Keith and Katie. Shiro guided them in with his hands on their shoulders, then pushed them gently in the direction of the table and reached up into the cupboard above the sink. “Allura, you thirsty?”

“The Merlot for me, please,” Allura said distractedly, carving off another slice of meat. Keith slid in beside Lance, wincing just slightly. Lance offered his other hand and Keith took it, gripping harder than seemed possible with his narrow fingers. Keith was…not so good at coming back, sometimes. He seemed okay now, though. He focused on Shiro when he came in, watched Allura’s hand on the knife, tipped his head towards the radio when the song ended and the eight-o’clock news came on, and managed not to look tired and scared and numb, which was the main thing. He even managed to smile when Coran slid a plate of gravy-soaked chicken and potatoes and carrots in front of him.

He’d got a lot better at figuring out what was wanted of him. They all had.

Lance eyed his own plate disbelievingly, but kept his hands decorously under the table, if not in his lap (nobody could see, it was fine). He had a leg. Had he ever told them he liked dark meat? No, of course he couldn’t have, but still, a leg was a _real_ treat. Hunk was looking at his own plate, and Lance could see the hunger in his face even if nobody else could. This was _good._ They weren’t going to mess it up by being rude, but oh, just the smell…

It seemed like hours before Allura sat down opposite, looking regal as a queen, and gave them the go-ahead to tuck in.

Lance bolted the first few mouthfuls and then consciously slowed down, not wanting to look rude and trying to draw out the experience for as long as he could. The food was fantastic. The radio played in the background over the chink of cutlery, sombrely offering snippets of news that Lance soaked up like dry ground soaking up rain, desperate for any piece of the outside world.

His hands were free, and that wasn’t something he took for granted any more, although it was pretty normal now – the first few months had been difficult, with all of them handcuffed to each other for meals and trying not to stab each other with forks as they ate, but they’d learned to behave and now they got to have their hands free.

It was second nature to smile, made sure to make the right appreciative noises and to tell Coran the food was amazing. The food _was_ amazing, and that wasn’t just the gnawing in his stomach talking – fluffy potatoes, perfectly roasted chicken, rich gravy that covered his tongue like nectar from heaven.

He’d been taking care not to eat too fast, but even so, Lance cleared his plate well before Allura or Coran were done. He leaned surreptitiously back against the wall, soaking up the warmth and the news report, and tried not to let his eyelids droop. It was hard, the kitchen was warm and he was so tired…

Eventually, though, the plates on the other side of the table were scraped clean, and Lance’s attention sharpened again.

This was the _real_ business of the night. Dinner was nice, but sooner or later they had to earn their keep.

It shouldn’t be so bad today. Everyone was in a decent mood. Lance was a _pro_ at happy, smiling sex.

He was also a pro at getting whipped, but he preferred the other sort.

Allura was the first to push her chair back. “That was marvellous,” she said, smiling broadly. “I’m off to bed. Katie, if you wouldn’t mind joining me?”

Katie pushed herself up with a brilliant smile and stepped carefully around Shiro’s chair. Allura draped and arm over her shoulders and the two of them headed out of the room.

Shiro leaned back in his chair, carefully eyeing the three of them remaining over. Lance didn’t hold his breath in anticipation. Shiro was in a good mood; there was nothing too much to worry about. “Keith,” he said, raising his eyebrows and tipping his head back. “With me.”

Keith didn’t quite have Katie’s smile down, but he gave Shiro a good attempt at it anyway, straightening up and stepping easily into Shiro’s space like he wanted to be there. Maybe it wasn’t too hard to fake. Shiro was usually okay when he was in a good mood. He’d want to take it slowly and see Keith enjoying himself. He’d been almost like that the first time with Lance, back in the beginning, though Lance hadn’t really appreciated it at the time.

Only one left.

Well, Coran wasn’t too bad. He usually liked to watch. Lance and Hunk knew how to put on a pretty good show.

Lance leaned into Hunk, tilting his head flirtatiously to the side, and gave Coran his best bedroom eyes.

To his surprise, though, Coran shook his head. “Not tonight, lads. I’ve got to be up early tomorrow. Conference.”

Surprise held Lance motionless for a moment. Coran didn’t –

Realisation and gratitude washed over him all at one.

He blurted “Wait!” and lunged awkwardly off the bench. Shiro and Keith hadn’t left the room yet – Lance caught the trailing edge of Keith’s sleeve, yanked him around, and pressed their lips together.

He felt Keith’s start of surprise before the other boy relaxed into him and deepened the kiss. Lance guided him around so that Coran would have a better view. He and Keith looked good together, he _knew_ that – they’d starred in more than their share of films together, on the bed in the spare room – and he owed Coran _something_. He tilted his head to make it look better and Keith – who caught on fast – let out a little hum _just_ loud enough for Coran to hear it when Lance’s tongue swiped over his lower lip.

There was a meaningful cough, and Lance pulled back from the kiss to see Shiro leaning indulgently against the door jamb. Shiro quirked an eyebrow and Lance sheepishly let go of Keith’s sleeve so that Shor could guide him out of the kitchen.

Coran sighed appreciatively, and Lance risked looking over his way to see the older man dragging his sleeve across his eyes. “Ah, you’re good boys. Help an old man clear up?”

Clearing up didn’t take long. Lance gathered up the plates and slotted them into the dishwasher while Hunk scrubbed the pots and pans. Coran took care of the chicken – there was no chance he’d ever let either of them near a knife. He didn’t need to worry; Lance would never have tried anything even if the others had been safe in the basement and out of the way, not upstairs. Neither of them would.

If Lance had been alone…completely alone, without anyone else, nobody to be Voltron with or hold onto when he got lonely…

He didn’t want to think about what that would be like. Sometimes he had nightmares where he woke up in the basement and he was alone, and they were the worst ones of all. Whips, he could handle. He could take knives, and a cattle prod, and one horrible time he’d had a knife held to his throat. He could manage that. But being alone…

He could live with anything as long as he wasn’t alone.

On that thought, Lance started the dishwasher. Hunk put the last of the saucepans in the dryer to drain and carefully folded the dishrag he’d been using.

Coran looked around the tidy kitchen and nodded approvingly. “Good job, well done. Come on, then…”

Lance laced his fingers through Hunk’s as Coran chivvied the two of them out of the kitchen and back down the creaky steps to the basement. He had to let go at the bottom though, tugged the faded shirt over his head and folded it neatly, stepped out of the boxers and folded those as well before tucking them away in the footlocker beside the door. He stripped without any sense of shame; Coran and Hunk had seen it all before and more besides.

Hunk tugged him down on the mattress closest to the door, which was a little thicker than the other one. He lowered himself down stiffly and lay on his side. Lance flopped down opposite him, and the two of them stared into each other’s eyes across six inches of mattress. Behind him, there was a rattle as Coran fished what he wanted out of the footlocker.

Hunk’s eyes looked worn. Everything about him seemed tired these days, but his eyes were the worst. They were worn down, not as thin or hollow as Keith’s but just…worn, with shadows lurking behind the smiles he put on for their captors. But he still smiled at Lance across those six inches, and he was warm and _there_.

“Alright, you know the drill –”

In practiced unison, Lance and Hunk reached over their heads and gripped the metal bar set into the wall above the mattress with one hand. There was another rattle, then Coran’s shadow fell across Lance as the older man fastened a handcuff around his wrist and locked the other cuff to the metal bar.

The handcuffs hadn’t been a thing at first. Originally they’d just been locked in the basement at night, if they weren’t sharing someone’s bed. Even the bolts hadn’t been there when Lance first got here.

Katie had nearly got out that way. She’d managed to trip the lock on the basement door somehow – she’d never told them how – and snuck up the stairs in the middle of the night. She’d been trying to pick the lock on the front door with a safety pin when Allura had come down for a drink.

Takashi had broken her fingers. No hesitation. Just held her hand flat on the table and brought the hammer down, _crack_. They’d never healed right.

The bars had been installed the next day. Ever since then they slept chained to the wall.

It could have been worse.

Coran finished cuffing Hunk and straightened up. Lance sighed and tried to make himself more comfortable.

“Uh – Coran?” Hunk asked hesitantly.

Coran raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Can we have a blanket?” Hunk glanced down and then back up at Coran. “Please?”

Lance stared up at Coran, praying fiercely inside his head. They’d been obedient, he’d kissed Keith earlier and he knew Coran liked that, _please_.

“Well, you’ve both been good today,” Coran mused. Lance tried to look as well-behaved as possible. “Yes, you’ve earned that.”

Hunk visibly relaxed as Coran turned back to the footlocker, and grinned at Lance. Lance grinned back, feeling another warm surge of satisfaction. The basement got cold at night, even with Hunk to snuggle up to. A blanket was the final bonus in a day already full of them.

The scratchy warmth of the blanket settling across his shoulders felt like a blessing. Lance smiled up at Coran and wriggled playfully. “So, we could do something nice for you after the conference?” he offered.

“I just might take you up on that, Lance.” Coran patted his shoulder. “Sleep well, you two.”

The door closed behind him, plunging the basement into darkness. The lock clicked. The bolts shot home. Coran’s footsteps trudged up the stairs. A moment later, even the crack of light around the door winked out.

Hunk’s free arm landed heavily on Lance’s side and curled around his back. Lance reached back for Hunk and, with a little fumbling, managed to hug him back.

“Do you want to form Voltron?” Hunk whispered.

“Yeah,” Lance whispered back.

“My turn?”

Lance breathed out a laugh and swatted at Hunk’s shoulder. “No way, you did it earlier. My turn.”

“Okay.” Hunk let out a sigh and shifted in the dark. It made the mattress move underneath Lance. “Ready?”

Lance licked his lips and closed his eyes, falling back into the place where he wore armour and fought aliens, where he rescued prisoners and piloted a giant space lion, where he was free and unburdened and the whole universe stretched out before him, full of wonders.

“Form Voltron.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has taken me almost two years to write. (Okay, okay, a year and three-quarters.) It popped into my head maybe a month after I first watched Season 1, and I immediately started writing it.
> 
> Then I stalled. It was the atmosphere. The story needed to be written in a very particular way. So it languished for over a year.
> 
> Earlier this month, I finally picked it up again. This time it came pretty easily. Still, if there's anything you think could be improved, let me know. It was a devil to get right.


End file.
